


What's become of us

by borzoi



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternative Universe - High School, Modern Era, Multi, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:28:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borzoi/pseuds/borzoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wonders when the line of dream and memory has been blurred.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's become of us

**Author's Note:**

> excuse the horrific summary, it's a crime how uncreative i am. enjoy a jean/marco (plus other parings and characters) reincarnation fic. i have no idea how long this might be, i won't make guesses.

  
In his dream, the sky was falling.

Okay, maybe not falling. It might be more appropriate to say that the sky was _full_ – giant, terrifying clouds, bruised and angry, swollen to the size of the sun. They were screaming, shrieking from mouths with split-shark teeth and eyes huge and dark and hungry.   
  
And when there was no room left in the sky, they groaned and creaked and rolled, rolled right out of the horizon to land, and the ground they touched they swallowed, and they swallowed every inch.   
  
He does not know where he is nor what he is doing, but he does remember a death. He remembers watching; eyes wide, hands shaking, screaming, screaming as loud as he can but he can’t remember what and he can’t remember why because it doesn’t help, because the death comes quick and he is trembling, weeping, and he does not know who they were but he can remember the sound of their screams.

  
*     *     *

When Jean woke, he was sweating. The sheets stuck to him as he rose and when he peeled them away it nearly stung. The fist that rubbed at his eyes returned wet with tears, and he frowned, wiped them away on a dry square of bed sheet, and wondered _why me._  
  
It wasn’t rare for him to have nightmares; dreams that left him trembling and gasping for breath when he woke, dreams he could not shake for days, weeks to come. They were usually the same thing, the same story, the same death- great huge terrors (sometimes clouds, sometimes creatures, sometimes not) and he was alone, always alone, until he’d find a sole survivor to ultimately watch them die.   
  
He didn’t know much about the stranger, save for foretastes every now and then. The sightings varied greatly – one night he might see the shape of an ear, a splatter of freckles on a pale neck; another, an eye, brown - the other hidden beneath a fringe of hair.   
  
Jean thinks the stranger is a boy, but he can’t be sure.  
  
He doesn’t think about them much, doesn’t want to. Mostly he just wonders why it hurts so much to watch them die.   
  
He glances as his bedside table with a heavy sigh, popping the joints of his shoulders. The screen blinks an obnoxious 2:04 and he wonders if it’s worth going to back to sleep; if he even can. He usually doesn’t dream the same thing twice, though he still isn’t entirely confident with the theory.   
  
Eventually he tears the sodden sheet from his bed, flips his pillows and settles down again. The mattress is scratchy and uncomfortable but he doesn’t mind too much, the routine not so infrequent.   
  
He falls asleep eventually to the lull of his wall heater, the trees trembling in wind.   
  
He falls asleep, and this time, he doesn’t dream.

  
*     *     *

He’s up again at seven and this time he stays, dreading the day with a dry ache in his stomach. It’s the start of a new school year and while his friends have no short of enthusiasm he certainly does. Senior year does not hold the same promises to him as it does his peers and he remembers the end of his last year, saying goodbye to tearful students leaving to careers or life larger than the hallways at school and wondering why he wasn’t too.   
  
He counts to a hundred before heaving himself out of bed, padding immediately towards the shower. He’s caked in dry sweat and tears, the remnants of another night he’d rather not remember, and so he doesn’t.  
  
His shower is quick and so is dressing – a pair of jeans, old Converse shoes and a t-shirt which says Alto Sports. He doesn’t smell anymore and that, at least, is a relief. Eventually he runs out of time to waste in his room and walks downstairs regretfully. The kitchen smells like eggs and toast and his stomach flips.      
  
His mom is standing at the stove wearing an apron and she’s smiling. Jean can’t help smiling too, granted small.                   
  
“Morning, darling! Ready for today?”   
  
Jean nods, looks away, seats himself at the table: is he?  
  
Breakfast is fast and eventually he’s ushered out by an enthusiastic mother, cramming fruit into his bag and wishing him good luck. He’ll probably need it.   
  
Topeka High was a small school with an estimate of 600 students. 89 of them were seniors. It was only a block away from Jean’s and an easy walk. It only takes him ten minutes to get there, the first morning of senior year, and the sun is out and shining gloriously and he wonders if it’s irony or luck.   
  
He enters through the back gate and it is just as he remembered; the smell, of red-bark and pine – a small school nested in looming trees with white-walled classrooms, too new and too modern for a school crammed in the middle of nowhere. The hallways are busy as he enters, teenagers shouting and laughing, excited and scared. Familiar faces wave and he returns the gesture.  
  
His locker is near the end of the corridor, segmented and separated from the rest in a block for seniors. Their lockers stood taller and wider than they had in younger years and he was relieved. He hoped that the separation would stop the freshmen from sticking gum on their locks.   
  
He’s flipping through the combination of his padlock when strong arms wrap around his waist – an enthusiastic voice shouting right at his ear.   
  
“Jean! Man, it’s been ages!”  
  
Jean resists the urge to roll his eyes whilst disentangling the arms to turn towards the boy. Connie had been a close friend of his for some time, perhaps one of his closest. He feels the weight of school ease slightly, the mounting pressure softening with the promise of his friend. He smiles, and it feels easier than it has for a long while. “Not long enough, Springer. Where have you been?”  
  
Connie laughs. “Not with you.” He says it half seriously, Jean can tell, but doesn’t comment. He’d received quite a few calls from his friend, and others. He rarely returned them.   
  
“Far too busy for the likes of you, Springer,” he’s joking, and he’s surprised at how easy it feels. “Where is everyone?”  
  
Connie shrugs, but he’s grinning broadly again. Jean briefly hopes he’s not too mad for the loss of contact. “Not here yet I guess. I saw Eren hanging around somewhere so I guess Mikasa and Armin are too. You know how it is.”  
  
Jean rolled his eyes. Yeah. He did.  
  
“So what’s up with you and Mikasa, anyway? I do hope you’re talking to her more than you are to me, at least.”   
  
You could say Jean and Mikasa had history. Or, you could say that Jean _wanted_ them to have history. That would probably be closer to the truth. Jean developed a pretty chronic crush on her the year before and it hadn’t progressed very far. Or, at all. Whatever.   
  
“She’s only got eyes for Eren, man,” Jean said, and he wasn’t joking. They all knew it, but not really to the extent he did. Truth be known, the most brutal force of the crush had worn off. Months of little to no attention did that to a guy.  
  
Connie shrugged. “Bummer.” He’d probably be more sympathetic if they hadn’t all been expecting it.   
  
“Yeah,” Jean agreed, turning back towards his locker. Whilst rummaging through his locker and grabbing equipment for class the two discussed their schedule.     Whilst they shared homeroom and first period together, they were not in any others. Jean had Bio – a class he could handle, at best. He’d always been good with maths, chemistry – the technical side of things.    
  
Before the two turned to head the homeroom, there was a shrill scream, and Jean felt his books being flung upwards as a small body collided with his. “ _Jean!_ Connie! How are my best trolls!”  
  
Connie dropped his books and wrangled the small body off of Jean, bear-hugging her. “Sasha, man! What’s up? What the hell did you do to your hair?”   
  
Sasha Braus shrugged sheepishly while Jean fondly ruffled her hair – which was a bright, aggressive pink. It didn’t look bad, actually. Jean laughed, shoving Connie’s shoulder. “Hey, lay off, man. I’m sure Erwin will _love_ it.”  
  
Sasha groaned loudly. Principal Erwin wasn’t their favourite guy. He could be cool occasionally – or he could be a huge, _huge_ asshole.   
  
Over the course of fifteen minutes before the bell for homeroom the rest of their group appeared, and Jean felt his mood lighten immediately. Annie Leonharht showed up first, a notorious hardass but actually a cool girl to hang out with when you got through her twelve-foot layer of armour. She and Sasha were virtually inseparable; there was a rumour that they had a thing for each other, too, but they didn’t say anything so Jean didn’t ask.

Christa came next; a tiny blonde girl with a voice you could barely hear unless you bent over. Everybody liked each other in their small, unique group, sure – but _everybody_ liked Christa. If there was an award for being the most decent person breathing she’d win it hands down.   
  
Next was Rainer Braun and Bertolt Fubar. The two had been dating for nearly three years and wouldn’t surprise anyone if they ended up getting hitched. Rainer slapped Jean heartily on the back and complained that he barely spoke to him all of vacation.   
  
Bertolt was quiet, meeker; he had only moved to Topeka late last year after leaving his previous school. He was still shy, especially around Annie and Sasha, but he was getting better.  
  
Ymir came last. She was closest to Christa, though her and Connie had a thing too. Jean thought they’d make a nice couple, but Connie pretended to hate the idea. Everyone knew he was in deep for Sasha.   
  
The group filed to their separate homerooms slowly. Due to the small amount of students there were only three senior classes, so most of them were together during the day. They all had the same English class.   
  
Jean and Connie were one of the last to take a seat in Room 10 as their teacher, Ms. Hanji, scribbled furiously on the blackboard. She tried to insist everyone call her Zoe but they never really did. She was a weird teacher, sure, but Jean didn’t mind her too much.   
  
“Good morning, seniors!”   
  
A few students weakly replied. Most ignored her.   
  
“What a level of enthusiasm to start the morning! First I’d like to say that we’re expecting great things from you seniors, great things! The total grading for last year’s exams were _outstanding,_ class, outstanding, and if you can continue to bring that calibre of work this year you’ll be flying out of here into the real world of successful work in no time!”  
  
 _I wish,_ Jean thought briefly, but he didn’t speak.   
  
Whilst Hanji had taken some moments to gather her breath, there was a quiet knock at the door. She rushed over and threw it open, and her smile grew brighter as she recognized the face.   
  
“Ah. Class, of course! I’d like to introduce you to our new student! Marco, Marco… Butler?”   
  
The boy mustn’t have minded, as his voice was gentle as he answered, “Bolt,” before stepping in.   
  
When Jean looked up the first thing he noticed was a smile. It was small, polite, pretty. Marco had freckles spreading like wildfire across his cheeks, and eyes brown and wide gentle and kind of reminded Jean of a doe and-  
  
he stopped immediately, floored. He wondered why the room smelt nicer now that he was in it, and he wondered where the hell he’d seen that face before.   
  
He wanted to stare at it for longer; puzzle those freckles which mapped a pattern he recognized. He wanted to look into those eyes, as deep as he could, and ask them why they struck something so deep inside of his that he was frightened.   
  
He couldn’t, of course. He couldn’t, because when Marco looked over in curiosity at the boy melting him with a gaze so intense it could cut diamonds he could do nothing but look away. He felt like he wasn’t brave enough to meet those eyes yet. He wondered if he’d ever be.   
  
Marco was assigned to a seat on the other side of the room and whilst Jean was grateful, he also wasn’t. By now he was consumed with a curiosity so great he could concentrate on little else; Hanji called his name on the roll three times before he jerked into attention, the class giggling. Jean didn’t have to look over to see that Marco hadn’t laughed. He felt like he’d recognize the sound.   
  
When the bell went Jean nearly leapt out of his seat in his eagerness to get to Bio, to get out of that class, to block his nose from a smell that resembled something like flowers and green grass and confusion.  
  
“Jean! Come here, would you?”  
  
He shouldn’t have been surprised. He really shouldn’t have.  
  
Hanji ushered Jean over with a friendly smile, and the new student was standing next to her (Marco, a little voice said, _Marco_ ) and Jean wanted to die. He wanted to curl up in a little ball and block his nose because that smell was driving him _crazy_ because it was so, so nice but it also made him hurt somewhere deep, somewhere very very deep, and he wonders if anyone else could smell it because no one else seemed to be hurting, no one else seems to notice like he does.   
  
“Marco, this is Jean Kirschtein. He’s got Biology with you today, and I’m sure he’d love to take you.” She turned to Jean and her smile wasn’t imposing or threatening, just _nice,_ and maybe that’s why he couldn’t say no.  
  
He forced a smile. He thought, _maybe I’ll skip.  
  
_ He wonders why he’s freaking out as much as he is. It’s stupid, right? It’s stupid to feel so uncomfortable over a guy you’ve never met. Pull it together, Kirschtein, and stop being a loser.   
  
Jean nodded once; polite, friendly, proper. He smiled. “Of course.” His throat felt dry. He tried to breathe through his mouth. “Come with me, Marco.”  
  
Hanji chattered happily and patted him on the shoulder as he steered the boy out. Standing so close, Jean realized he was nearly a head taller than the other. He also could not escape the smell, so strong he thought he might drown in it.   
  
“So…” he said eventually, after they’d rounded a corner. Marco did not seem that uncomfortable in silence. Rather, he just looked… happy. Jean was confused. Happy to be here? Happy they didn’t have to talk? Happy someone was leading him to class so he didn’t have to get lost and walk into a full classroom late? “Where did you go before here?”  
  
Marco turned to him and his smile was nearly brighter than Hanji’s. “Oh, I was home-schooled, actually.”   
  
His voice nearly hurt more than his smell did (he could almost name it, now- roses, red roses and tulips, and maybe sunflowers? Did sunflowers have a smell?) and he had to clear his throat before he spoke again. “Oh, cool. What was that like?”   
  
Marco considered this for a moment, leaning his head to the side. Jean thought he liked when Marco did this, then he stopped. Jean realized he could see six new freckles, scattered beneath his chin, and he stopped again.   
  
“It was nice, sometimes.” Marco had some sort of accent, but Jean couldn’t name it. “I got lonely, though. I always dreamed of being able to go to a big school and have friends, and groups, and stuff.”   
  
Marco laughed softly; weakly. He _giggled._ Jean was sweating.   
  
“Oh, yeah, I feel you. Have you made any friends here yet?” Immediately Jean thought it was a stupid question. The boy had only been here for an hour, of _course_ he didn’t have any friends.  
  
“Yes, actually.” Jean glanced over, shocked. “Well, I met a very nice girl. Sasha, her name was. She had the most interesting hair.”   
  
Jean nearly laughed. Of _course._ Of fucking course.   
  
“Oh, yeah, hah,” Jean laughed weakly, glancing down at his hands. He wondered if Marco though he was rude, or awkward. He probably was. “Sasha’s one of my closest friends. She’s a cool girl.”   
  
Marco seemed thrilled. They made polite chat on the way to their class, and when they got there, the teacher thankfully separated them. Jean nearly sprinted to Connie, whilst Marco was seated next to Rainer who’d already been moved to the corner for behaviour.   
  
Jean didn’t speak in the entire lesson, and the smell got no easier to bear. Most of the time he thought about Marco’s eyes, and where he’d seen them, and what a nice colour they were.   
  
When the bell finally rang Jean nearly threw his chair to the ground in his haste to getting out of it. He didn’t wait for Connie or for Rainer as he power-walked to his locker, threw his books in, and hurled himself out the doors. Fresh air was fantastic. It felt like he hadn’t breathed for an hour.   
  
After he’d chilled to as much a degree as he could Jean made his way towards the benches behind the gym, where his group usually sat. No one was there yet, and he wasn’t surprised.  
  
He didn’t mind. It gave him some time to gather the pieces of him that were freaking out.   
  
Eventually Connie appeared, pissed and confused that Jean had left like he did, and Rainer and Bertoldt soon after, holding hands and sharing a muffin. The girls came after that, talking animatedly about a new video game that had been released. By then, Jean was feeling relatively normal.   
  
Lastly, Sasha came, pink hair alight, smile wide, and in tow was Marco Bolt.


End file.
